


Du du du-du, du du du-du

by mm8



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, doctor playing the guitar, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The darkness that you felt</i><br/>I never meant for you to fix yourself</p>
            </blockquote>





	Du du du-du, du du du-du

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kronette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/gifts).



The Doctor liked playing the guitar. He'd picked it up during his second regeneration. One night his recorder had got lost (in the end he'd found out that it had rolled deep under Jamie's bed while he was in there playing the Highlander a familiar tune, and had dropped it when the TARDIS made a sudden lurch), but he was a musician at heart and needed something to play. He scowered all through the closets in the TARDIS for a suitable instrument to play. The bongos made his palms ache, the tuba was too giant and heavy, the piccolo too similar to his beloved recorder. He was on his fifth closet (Zoe and Jamie thought he was going mad) when he found it. An old guitar. Well, not old per se. It was a Fender Stratocaster. Old for Zoe, out of Jamie's world, but for the Doctor, well he supposed it was classic. He learned how to master it in one night, waking his assistants up with a rendition of 'Stairway to Heaven'. 

However, his third incarnation, trapped for a decent time on Earth, had no need for the guitar or recorder or any musical instruments for that matter. He had other scientific matters to attend to with U.N.I.T. So he shoved all the instruments in a cupboard so deep in the TARDIS that frankly the Doctor didn't remember about any of it until after the whole mess with Missy turning all of Earth's dead into Cybermen. 

The recorder didn't talk to him like it had hundreds of years ago. He didn't want to grasp it in his hands and play. The tuba and the bongos were still annoying. But there was his old Fender Stratocaster in the very back, a thick layer of dust covering her strings. It spoke to him like the recorder never had. He plugged it into an amp and made the guitar sing. 

Clara was gone. So was Missy. Or at least he had no idea where she had got to since Skaro. Deep in his hearts he knew she was alive. She was a survivor, just like he was. But losing Clara had hit him hard. She'd been the first to see him with this face. The last to see him with his old one. It was always too hard to say goodbye to someone who've spent a lot of time with, someone who you have shared too much with, someone that you loved deeply.

He was at a bar in London or one of his suburbs, he wasn't too sure anymore. The Doctor hadn't paid any mind to the TARDIS' statistics when he'd landed but he knew he was in the year 2017 cause he had seen someone reading a newspaper with the headline about the number of deaths in the war against the terrorists in the Middle East. The date was December 2, 2017 if the paper was correct anyway.

The bar was dingy, smelly, it was a bit on the suspicious side honestly. He got a feeling that a few of the bartenders doubled as punters since they would occasionally leave through the back door into an alley with one of the club goers. But the Doctor didn't care this time. He wasn't here to crack a monster case or save the world. Prostitution was a human problem unless the pimp turned out to be a Siltheen or something. 

It was open mic night and for some reason he'd the urge to sign-up. He didn't know why this shit bar or why this night. But he wanted to do it. 

Someone hit his arm rather roughly, startling the Doctor out of his thoughts. "Oi, you're up next granddad."

The Doctor glared at the pimply-faced man. He glared at the stage hand but didn't correct him. After all he was a granddad and he was old. He drew his attention back to the stage. An amateur juggler had just ended his act, having been booed by the audience for not being able to fulfill his job description. The juggler strode past the Time Lord like a sad clown, his clubs, trailing along the floor.

The emcee proceeded to calm down the crowd with a few jokes and assurances that the Tesco down the street had some tomatoes on sale.

"And now ladies and gentlemen, I've got a really cool guy that everybody knows rocks, John Smith!"

"Don't have a stroke, old man," the stagehand shouted as he forcefully pushed him onto the stage, into the harsh white light. 

The noise of the crowd was silent as he approached the mic stand. He could hear whispers of a few people sitting at the tables near the foot of the stage.

"Uh, is this right?"

"It can't be, he's a dinosaur."

"Think he knows how to play that thing?"

The Time Lord wanted to correct them all because yes he was supposed to be there, actually he'd ridden a dinosaur before so sod off, and could he play this thing? Oh boy. 

He had one song. About three minutes. He had waited over an hour just for this moment. This was it. 

He didn't bother with any words or introduction. He plugged his Fender Stratocaster into the club's system and stung the opening cords.

The thunderous noise from the club was instantaneous. Yes, they all knew this song. It had been wildly popular a couple years back and they all knew the words. The fact that an old man knew the song and was playing it on an electric guitar probably stunned them.

The Doctor saw people tapping their feet and singing the words they he had conveniently left out. People had got up from their cushy seats and were dancing. Some had taken out their mobiles and filming him play. 

That's when he saw her. 

She was was singing louder than the rest and dancing on a table, probably drunk. Her red hair was cut shorter now, a 1920s bob cut. She'd lost some weight, maybe because she was happier? She wore skinny jeans, leopard patterned high heels and a revealing dark blouse. 

Donna Noble hadn't changed a bit. 

When the song ended, he rushed off the stage, barely taking the time to unplug his guitar or anything. He just wanted to leave. Damn the TARDIS for taking him here. Damn her and schemes. Damn his sentiment.

The pimply faced stagehand stopped him just as he was almost out the backstage door. "Hey," said as he pushed an envelope into the Doctor's palm. "Boss wanted you to have this."

They stayed there lingering a moment too long, before the Doctor pushed the stagehand off him and left through the door into the back alley. 

It was dark and seedy, and a bartender was sucking someone off against the wall. but he didn't care. 

He hadn't seen Donna Noble for at least two hundred years. He thought he had buried all that pain and hurt down centuries ago. And here now in 20th century London it was crawling back up like it was only yesterday, like he was back in Chiswick putting Donna to bed,telling her mum and Wilf what had happened, having her look at him for the first time with emptiness behind her eyes. 

Oh Rassilon.

The TARDIS was parked about two blocks away from the club. He tried to walk as fast as possible but it was a bit difficult with a guitar strapped to his back.

"Oi!"

The Doctor wanted to freeze, but freezing meant stopping and he couldn't do that. So he attempted to go faster.

"Oi! Oi, I know that you can hear me! Oi!"

There was only so many of Donna Noble's 'oi's that the Doctor could take before succumbing. He spun around and found himself directly face-to-face with a woman he swore he would never speak to ever again. "What? Didn't your mum ever teach you not to talk to strangers?"

Donna Noble lifted her chin in the air and shuck her shoulders back, hands on her hips. "Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. But you're not quite a stranger, are you?"

The Doctor sucked in a breath. "Oh really?"

"Yeah I saw you play back there at the club," suddenly Donna became a little shy, a blush crept up her cheeks. "You're very good. I enjoyed it quite a lot."

The Doctor bit his lower lip. Yeah, of course she meant the club. Of course Donna didn't mean what he hoped she had meant. His former assistant could never recall their time together, not one second. "Yeah," he replied as friendly as he could. "I noticed."

"I once had a boyfriend who played guitar. He was Scottish too. He didn't have a Scottish burr like you though."

He vaguely remembered Donna telling him about that boyfriend. They'd be exploring the wilds of Epyks rainforest and she'd been ranting for over an hour about this boyfriend, (Josh? John? Jeremy?) shared a flat with her during her uni days, never paid rent, always left a mess, drank too much, and one day up and left with another girl and Donna was left in a bind. The Time Lord had been astounded and ended up yelling at her in frustration, "We're in one of the top ten most beautiful rain forests in the entire universe, in the _universe_ , Donna, and all you can do is talk about some old boyfriend of yours from your twenties?" And she'd just replied, "Well, yeah. He was an asshole."

"Well, ah, I'm glad you liked it."

"Yeah," Donna gave him a courteous smile and waved. "I just wanted to let you know and all. Have a good night, okay? It's freezing are you going to be alright wearing just those pajamas?"

The Doctor let out a laugh, "I'm parked just a couple blocks down. I swear. I'm fine. Thanks though."

Donna nodded. "Okay. Bye then."

He turned on his heel and sped quickly away. He could have swore she yelled after him, "Hey maybe trying singing with that sexy voice of yours next time!"

Damn his luck. Damn the TARDIS.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).


End file.
